


Moray

by TimeToRemember



Category: The Paradise
Genre: Desk Sex, Lust, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Stress Relief, Ties & Cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeToRemember/pseuds/TimeToRemember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley is having a terrible, terrible day at the end of an even worse week. Rushed off his feet with far too much for just one person to achieve, and taking on far too much to ease the equally full workload of other people, the stress is beginning to get to him, and the cracks are beginning to show.</p>
<p>Moray feels that it is his solemn duty to help his best and oldest friend relax.</p>
<p>(And show him, at the same time - who said men cannot multi-task? - <i>just</i> who he belongs to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moray

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration: The desk in Moray's office.  
> I've rated this as "Explicit" because I'm paranoid as hell, and do not want anything bad to happen to me/this fic/whatever else may be or could be affected.  
> Secondly, I've taken liberties with their clothes, Moray's romantic relationships - that is, they no longer apply - and the layout of Moray's office to make it fit my beautiful idea: I do apologise if that offends your sensibilities.  
> I am considering writing more of this kind of thing...unless of course it's actually terrible and I've sadly deluded myself.  
> As always, I own nothing, and any mistakes are my own. Enjoy.

“Mr. Dudley, sir, Moray wants to speak to you. In his office, sir.”

There it was again. All day, he’d been hearing his boss’ name. _**All day.**_ _Mr. Moray wants you to do this. Mr. Moray needs you to do that. Now, Dudley. There are deadlines that we must meet._ And whereas normally this would be a welcome sign of success, of the growing fame of The Paradise, today it simply grated on overworked nerves. 

With difficulty, Dudley suppressed the sigh just waiting to break free. They had reached the third hour of the working day, and so far he hadn’t stopped. Between the influx of new customers, the personal errands he ran for Moray, and avoiding Jonas, he’d been struggling to keep afloat. And now, when he’d finally been given a scant five minutes to speak with a customer requesting his opinion, he’d been summoned. Again.

“Arthur,” he said calmly, inwardly impressed at his perfect portrayal of an amiable salesman that was not at all, not even a little, irritated, “I will be there shortly, as soon as I have finished serving Miss. Vine.” 

The small boy peeked around his superior, and noted the young woman in the soft blue dress with an absolute minimum of interest. On her part, she found herself rather intrigued by this little show of work relations, and had not yet reached the neglected-and-irritated stage that marked the demise of salespeople everywhere.  
“Sir, you need to come now,” Arthur said, leaning closer to Dudley as he lowered his voice. “Mr. Moray was rather agitated, sir.” Anxious eyes stared up at Dudley, who read the clear plea in them with no small amount of trepidation. 

Dudley nodded once, sharply, concealing his expression with an ease born of experience. “Fetch Pauline, Arthur. I’ll go to see Moray.” Arthur ran off, relief lending him an extra spurt of speed, and Dudley returned to Miss. Vine. “My apologies, Miss,” he said smoothly, meeting her amused gaze. “Unfortunately, I have been called away on an urgent matter. My colleague, Pauline, will take it from here.” A twitch of delicate pink lips told him he hadn’t been entirely successful in concealing his feelings, but then Pauline arrived with Arthur in tow, and he left them to it. 

Dudley stalked up the stairs to Moray’s office, fuming. 

~

 

Flinging open Moray’s door in a manner that would have gained anyone else a severe rebuttal, Dudley conveyed his displeasure in the only way that seemed palatable to him. “Moray. You can’t just pull me away from our customers,” he started, stalking over to his boss’ desk. “It was unprofessional, it was heavy handed, and I am not your lackey.” 

The man seated at the desk looked up at that, expressive brown eyes narrowing marginally. He appeared to have been in the middle of writing a letter – he had been reaching for the inkpot when Dudley had entered the room.  
“Close the door.”  
Dudley, working up to an admirable rant, stopped, mid-flow. “What did you say?”  
“Close the door, Dudley.” Moray’s tone was just as calm as before, but carried a slight inflection that only those who really understood him would catch.

Dudley crossed his arms over his chest. “With all due respect, Moray,” he began again, a little calmer, “this is exactly what I’m talking about. I’m your _second,_ Moray. I am not the kitchen boy, or one of the workers in the yard, or even Arthur. I help you run this place, and you can’t just – “

Moray cut in smoothly as he stood, stepping out from behind his desk. “Close the door. I do not think you would like anyone to see this.”  
Dudley fought savagely against the impulse to step backwards, an impulse prompted by the look in Moray’s eyes. If Dudley had had to describe it, the only word that would suit would be _feral._  
“See what?” he asked, with a passable attempt at his usual just slightly wry tone, complete with a quirk of the lips.  
“My demonstration of exactly how you _are_ my lackey, Dudley. Or, to put it even more simply,” Moray stepped closer to him, and Dudley was helplessly fighting against the feeling that he was _prey,_ “my little reminder to you of exactly who you belong to.” Dark, expressive eyes met Dudley’s wavering gaze squarely, and in a matter of seconds Dudley had crossed the room, and had closed – and locked – the door he had only recently burst through.

~

Turning to ask Moray if he was satisfied, Dudley was blindsided by the image of Moray back at his desk. The man was currently clearing it of all the debris that accumulated throughout the week, with the majority of the papers simply swept into the top drawer for later examination, probably by Dudley. 

Dudley took a step towards him in some confusion, and was horrified to realize, suddenly, that he was sweating. His shirt was sticking to his skin, and the cravat he favoured was beginning to itch against his throat. He reached up to adjust the irritating garment, and found himself, once again, to be the object of Moray’s scrutiny. 

Moray smiled, then, and Dudley relaxed as the situation returned to normal. He would deliver a report, they would discuss their next step, and the remainder of the day would progress in fine order. Moray had just been playing for a reaction, seeing if he could ruffle the unshakeable assistant.  
His perfectly reasonable analysis was somewhat negated when Moray stepped out from behind his cleared desk, looking oddly intent. Nevertheless, Dudley had long since stopped reacting to his boss’ eccentricities, and opened his mouth to proceed as normal.

And thus let out an undignified yelp when Moray’s hand fisted into the fabric of his shirt, dragging him forwards until their bodies collided. Moray’s right-hand remained where it was, effectively anchoring Dudley in place, and his left closed over his wrists. Drawing Dudley’s hands away and down from his chest, where they’d landed in a futile attempt to prevent the collision, Moray took the final step and closed his mouth firmly over the other man’s. 

~

He was almost immediately blown away. 

The sensation was simply incredible. Dudley’s lips were soft and pliant under his own, melding to his in a way that could only be natural. They parted seemingly on request, (Moray’s slightly befuddled mind failed to recall that Dudley had been about to speak when he’d accosted him) and Moray’s tongue slipped into Dudley’s mouth as he deepened the kiss, his hand moving from the other man’s shirt to curl around the back of his neck, holding him in place in a move that was distinctly possessive. 

And then Dudley was kissing him back.

The only warning Moray received was a gentle sound at the back of Dudley’s throat, then his kiss was being returned with equal vigor, the plundering of Dudley’s mouth transforming rapidly into a back-and-forth that was almost frenzied in its intensity.  
Dudley’s hands slipped free of Moray’s loose hold, and twined around his waist, his grip tightening reflexively as Moray suddenly changed the game again. Slamming his foot against the in-step of Dudley’s opposite foot in a move that caused the other man to immediately overbalance with a softly enunciated curse, Moray took control of the fall with ease, applying only a small amount of strength to sit Dudley on the edge of his cleared desk. Insinuating himself between Dudley’s splayed legs, Moray was perfectly placed to ever-so-lightly rub his arousal against the similar display of interest on his assistant.

Dudley’s subsequent moan went straight to Moray’s already vastly interested cock, and it took considerable self-restraint not to rut against him like an adolescent. 

~

“Moray,” Dudley managed, pupils blown, arms hanging limply by his sides where he’d lost his grip on Moray’s waist, legs splayed wide with the evidence of his arousal pressing against his trousers, “what are you doing?” He no longer sounded calm, but rather hoarse around the edges: his usual confident, self-assured tone faltering deliciously.  
Moray was suddenly, intensely, pleased about this. “I am going to render you utterly incoherent,” he whispered, in between planting kisses that turned into bites on Dudley’s neck, making him shudder involuntarily, “here, on my desk, in _The Paradise.”_ Dudley moaned again, a soft, gasping sound that Moray knew he would never tire of. 

“Careful, Dudley,” Moray whispered, his tone nothing less than darkly suggestive, “someone might hear. And you know as well as I do how much they talk.” As Moray lifted his gaze to regard the intoxicating image of his assistant once again, he noted that Dudley clearly found the latter concept to be of some concern. So, in the same way in which he’d unleashed _The Paradise_ upon a town so unprepared for glamour, he innovated smoothly by tugging Dudley’s cravat free of his neck, ignoring vocal protests as he pressed a section into his mouth, and tied the remainder around the back of his head in a knot that served the desired purpose and wouldn’t come untied but was loose enough so as not to cause any discomfort. 

Staring into undeniably irritated eyes, Moray dipped his head and resumed his assault upon Dudley’s neck. In seconds, the scarf became a necessity as Dudley was all-but grinding against him, moans lost in the fabric of his cravat as he writhed helplessly.  
Moray’s agile hands slid down Dudley’s sculpted chest, undoing buttons with the ease of long familiarity with such garments. The jacket went first, flung carelessly to the floor. Dudley didn’t notice. His shirt followed shortly afterwards, scattering a few buttons in its' wake. He received a huff of irritation for his trouble – Dudley clearly didn’t appreciate the rough handling of his clothes – but Moray was too absorbed in the body spread out before him to react.

Dudley was…beautiful. Not in the manner of cherubic boys or blonde women in long white dresses, but just… _captivating._ Smooth skin stretched over a strong body, the muscles he’d gained as a younger man still sculpting a figure that had never experienced over-indulgence. The smoothness of his skin was slightly marred across the shoulders by a sprinkling of scars, but such imperfections merely contributed to the overall effect of Dudley's deliciously rugged attractiveness. Where the remainder of his body vanished into now too-tight trousers, his skin darkened with a faint tracing of hair, and Moray’s fingers moved there almost without conscious thought, tracing the line of skin and fabric slowly, almost reverently.

~

Then hips snapped up as Dudley conveyed his growing frustration perfectly by grinding his arousal up against Moray’s wandering hands, drawing him back into the moment. Moray’s hands tightened automatically – but not too much – drawing a whine from Dudley that was audible even around the makeshift gag. 

Then he was moving again, and in just a matter of moments, the rest of Dudley’s clothes were pooling on the floor, his cock red with arousal where it lay cradled in Moray’s gentle grip.  
Leaning in so his still-clothed body was pressed against Dudley’s delicious nakedness, Moray began to move his hand, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Dudley whined again, and tried to move it along with another grind of his hips, but the combination of Moray’s other hand and most of his weight pinned him effortlessly to the table. In his current state, Dudley had less fight in him than a kitten, and Moray never let an advantage pass him by.  
Finally, after what seemed like an age of gentle teasing, Moray suddenly sped it up, and Dudley was once again reduced to a writhing mess as Moray drove him towards orgasm. 

And then he was _there, just another second, and…_

Moray’s hand closed iron-hard around the base of his cock, preventing him from reaching completion. Dudley surged up against Moray, as he writhed, hard, his befuddled mind struggling to comprehend what had just occurred. He was whining almost continually, the sound quiet enough to be inaudible beyond the office, but the most exquisite music in Moray’s ears.  
Moray held Dudley there for a little longer until the sounds issuing from him grew more and more broken, utterly wrecked. Then he moved again, two strokes sufficient to send Dudley over the edge. 

Dudley’s back arched as his entire body stiffened against Moray, and then began to shudder involuntarily as he was finally able to climax over his own body, the desk, and Moray’s highly expensive suit.  
When Dudley lay limply against the arm Moray had propped under him for that purpose, Moray lowered him gently to the surface of his desk. Reaching behind his head, he untied the cravat, inching it carefully out of Dudley’s mouth. 

Moray stared down at parted, reddened lips, at dazed, wide eyes that were finally free of the stress that had been plaguing his manager for the entirety of the week, and at the flushed, satiated expression that he’d seen in his fantasies for the last _month,_ and found he had next-to-no impulse control. 

~

He captured those plump lips again with his own, and found, to his delight, that Dudley didn’t even attempt to take control as he had before. He freely plundered Dudley’s mouth, learning every inch of it with a devotion he rarely showed outside of The Paradise, until Dudley was mumbling incoherently, feebly trying to push him away.

Moray laughed gently as he backed off a mere step, shrugging out of his stained jacket. “Did you have something to say, Dudley?” he asked his assistant in a tone perfectly suitable for the sales floor, as he moved to the wardrobe on the other side of his office. Reaching inside, he pulled on an exact duplicate of the jacket he had been wearing before.

Dudley tried. He really did. Abused, reddened lips formed the letter ‘M,’ but no sound issued from a throat ringed with the marks of Moray’s pleasure. 

Moray’s smile widened into an expression that was positively gleeful. He made immediately for the door, pausing momentarily to glance at his appearance in the mirror. Smoothing down his hair and his jacket (to ensure the latter covered the still visible betrayal of his own feelings) Moray took the last few steps to unlock the door.

He paused, glanced back. Dark brown eyes cast off amusement with the swiftness of a cat shaking water from its fur, and Dudley swallowed thickly as he met that intense, unyielding gaze. “You are not my lackey, Dudley,” Moray whispered. “I couldn’t do this without you.” His grip tightened reflexively on the door handle, then he wrenched it open and was gone.

The door clicked closed.

Dudley’s head dropped back onto the desk. 

_Moray._


End file.
